THE HUGUENOTS.

About the middle of the sixteenth century a great religious quarrel arose in France, because some of the people wished to leave the Roman Catholic Church and found a new religion. These people were called Huguenots, and the king of France and the priests of the Church, and most of the great noblemen, thought they would be doing a very nice and good thing if they could make the Huguenots come back into the Church again and be satisfied with their old faith. So many cruel things were done by the king and his ministers, and the poor Huguenots had a very hard time of it. They were shot and burned and hanged—men and women and little helpless children; and the more Huguenots were murdered, the more the king thought that he was doing God good service.

But there was one great nobleman who thought the Huguenots were right, and joined himself to them and said he would give his money and his life to protect them. This man was Admiral Coligny; and as he was very rich and powerful he decided to send the Huguenots away from France to America, where they would be able to live peaceably, without fear of the cruel king.

So Coligny sent out some ships, carrying as many Huguenots as they could, to the New World, and every one thought that the trouble would be nicely settled in this way and that France was well rid of the Huguenots.

The company was commanded by John Ribault, a very good and brave man, and one not likely to be discouraged, for it needed a brave heart to lead these people so far from their loved France and find homes for them in a strange land. The voyage was very long and so stormy that it seemed sometimes they would never reach America at all, and they grew very tired of the sight of the sea, always so gray and threatening, looking like a great monster ready to devour them all; but at last, one beautiful spring day, as they stood looking wearily toward the west, a very fair and pleasant country met their view.

A shining, level beach stretched up and down, and behind this the land was green with great trees whose waving branches seemed to nod a welcome to the strangers. As far as they could see this beautiful forest was all that met their eyes, not a sign of hill or mountain; and the next day, when, after sailing along the coast a little way, they entered the mouth of a deep, broad river, and saw the fresh meadow grass, and smelled the perfume of the shrubs and flowers, they thought that they had been indeed led to a pleasant home, and hoped that their troubles were over. It was on the first day of May, 1562, that they landed on the banks of this river, and for that reason they called it the river of May—it is now known as the St. John. The Indians, no doubt, wondered very much to see these white strangers, but they received them very kindly and showed them by signs and gifts that they wished to be friends; they brought them finely-dressed skins, and leather girdles, and strings of pearls, and golden ornaments; and the French gave in return some colored beads and shining knives, and—most wonderful of all to the Indians—squares of tiny looking-glasses. These seemed very beautiful to the simple natives, who had never seen their faces before except in the clear waters of their lakes and rivers.

The second day after the landing Ribault set up a stone column on which were engraved the arms of France. He meant by this that he claimed all that country for the king of France, and for any Frenchmen who might want to come there and live, and that no other European nation would be allowed to settle there without his permission. The Indians did not in the least know what the stone column meant; they did not suppose for a moment that these kind-looking strangers, whom they had received so cordially, meant in return to take possession of their land just as much as if it had been given them by their chiefs. But this is just what the French did mean to do, and if the Indians had been unfriendly there would have been a great deal of trouble; but the natives of Florida were among the most peaceable of the Indian tribes, and they and the new-comers got along very peaceably and grew very fond of one another. Everywhere in America the Indians were treated better by the French than by any other nation, and wherever the French settled the Indians soon became their friends. So the Huguenots took possession of their new home and found living there very pleasant, indeed; and in fact they could scarcely have chosen a better place than this fair land, with its abundance of fruits, its rivers full of fish, and its forests abounding in animals, valuable for food and skins. But although this pleasant country seemed almost like heaven after the troubles they had had in France, still they were not satisfied. They noticed that the Indians wore ornaments of gold and silver, and that they had great strings of pearls and turquoises; and these things seemed, in the eyes of the French, of more value than anything else. And then, too, they had heard marvellous stories of Cibola, a place on the Pacific coast, where there were great cities with houses built of lime and stone, and whose inhabitants wore garments of wool and cloth, and decked themselves with turquoises and emeralds, and all their household utensils were made of gold and silver, and the walls of their temples were covered with gold, and their altars were studded with precious stones. A wonderful place was Cibola, containing, perhaps, a valley of diamonds and rivers of gleaming pearls. So they decided not to stay quietly here, but to look around a little and see if they could not find a place as rich in gold and silver and precious stones as Cibola itself.

They sailed up the Atlantic coast and found the country just as beautiful and promising as their first view of it, and found also the same kind welcome from the natives. By and by they entered the harbor of Port Royal, and it was decided that this would be a good place to make a settlement, leaving some of their number there while the rest returned with Ribault to France to report the success they had met with. It, perhaps, would have been better if they had all gone back home, for a very sorry time had those who were left behind. Instead of making provision for the future, they thought only of the gold and silver they might get, and depended entirely on the Indians for their food; and although the Indians were most generous, still their food gave out at last and the Frenchmen had nothing to do but wait for Ribault's return. But as the months passed and he did not come, they set off for France in a small vessel they had built, and after almost perishing of hunger and thirst, were picked up by an English ship and taken on their way. The feeble were sent on to France, but all the strong were taken to England as prisoners; and so ended the first attempt of the Huguenots to settle America.

But Coligny decided to try again, and in 1567 another company of Huguenots left France under the command of RenÉ de LaudonniÈre. They had a pleasant voyage and arrived in June at the River of May. As soon as they stepped on the shore they were greeted with shouts of welcome from the Indians, who came crowding around crying out Ami! Ami! the only French word they remembered.

How glad they were to hear this familiar greeting. Like their friends who had been there before, they felt that this pleasant place would be a haven of rest from the stormy times in France. Then Satournia, the Indian chief, led them to the stone pillar that had been set up two years before, and which they found crowned with wreaths of bay and having at its foot little baskets full of corn which the Indians had placed there. The simple-hearted natives kissed the stone column reverently and begged the French to do the same. And to please them the Huguenots also kissed the pillar on which were engraved the lilies of France, and it seemed for a moment as if they were back in their own loved homes again, peaceful and happy, and that all the trouble that the cruel king had caused them was only an ugly dream.

The next day the chief gave the new-comers a stately reception, for these Indian chiefs believed just as much in ceremony as did the great kings of Europe, and the Europeans who came to America were very much surprised to find such respect paid to rank and station. But this reception was something very different from any they had ever seen at a French court, gorgeous as they always were. Instead of a glittering throne and tapestry of cloth of gold, they saw a beautiful bower of trees and flowers. Dark pines and drooping palms formed a great, graceful arch, which was made still more beautiful with clusters of shining orange blossoms and heavy white magnolias. All the grass beneath was strewn with flowers, and the air was sweet with perfume, and thrilled with the songs of birds. The little Huguenot children, looking on this wonderful scene, thought it must be very pleasant to live in such a place as this, where one might have fruits and flowers all the time, and where even the grown-up men and women had time to take part in such festivities as they had never shared before, except on very rare fÊte days; and they looked shyly at their little dark-colored Indian friends and held their hands out to them, and they all clasped hands and stood there a very happy circle. Satournia stood under the shadow of the arbor and received his guests with great courtesy. He was clothed in skins so finely dressed that they were as smooth and soft as satin, and painted with strange pictures in bright colors, and so well were the pictures drawn and colored that the French said that no painter, no matter how great he might be, could find fault with them. And then the Indians gave their guests beautiful gifts, but the greatest gift of all was a great wedge of silver which was the present of Athore, the son of Satournia. Athore was a very handsome youth, and had gentle manners and a noble disposition; and as he stood there under the trees and offered the silver wedge to LaudonniÈre, the Frenchman thought he had never seen a more princely boy than this Indian lad, who had been brought up in the wilds of Florida.

The sight of gold and silver made the French very eager to leave this place, in search of the rich mines which the Indians said were in the interior of the country; and one party after another was sent out to find the treasures that they so much desired. The Indians were constantly telling wonderful stories of the wealth of other tribes, and advising the French to undertake expeditions against them. It was said that the Indians of one tribe wore complete armor of gold and silver, and that the women had ornaments and girdles of the same precious metals; and another tribe was so rich that they had a great pit full of gold for which they had no use; and above all, far back from the sea, were the Apalichi Mountains, which were as full of gold as the trees were full of blossoms.

But by and by the French began to suspect that the Indians were cheating them, and that they only told these stories in the hope that they would go away and leave them undisturbed. So fewer parties were sent out, and it was thought that they might better have planted corn and wheat than to have wasted so much time in a vain search for gold. By and by the men became dissatisfied and said that it was LaudonniÈre's fault that they had not done differently, and blamed him for not having provided for the safety of his people; and one of the men said that he had discovered by magic a mine of gold and silver which he would lead the rest to if they would kill LaudonniÈre, so that they might get the keys of the storehouse and provide themselves with food for the journey.

But this was not allowed by the officers, who loved LaudonniÈre too well to want to see him killed; but it was only the beginning of many plots and a long time of disappointment and discouragement, and it would have ended by their all going back to France again, just as the first Huguenots had done, had not an English fleet appeared, commanded by Sir John Hawkins, who gave them provisions enough to last them until they could get back to France. But before they sailed another fleet appeared, and as the ships came nearer they saw the French flag floating from the masts, and knew that help had come at last. This fleet was commanded by Ribault himself, and now it seemed that all their troubles would be over.

Ribault now took command, and knowing by experience that the search for gold and silver would only be vain and idle, began, instead, to make preparations for the coming winter, and to provide against the attacks of unfriendly Indians. And now it seemed that having been taught by their sufferings that only honest labor and good-will among themselves could bring comfort and peace, they really began this time in the right way.

But hardly had a week passed when the Huguenots learned that they were now to meet an enemy far more terrible than the Indians, and that all the trouble they had passed through would not compare with what was coming. It had been told in Spain that Coligny had sent out a party to relieve the Huguenots in Florida, and as the Spaniards were all Roman Catholics the news was received by them with anger and hatred, and they decided to send immediately a Spanish force to Florida in hope of reaching there before Ribault arrived. In this they did not succeed, as Ribault had already brought hope and comfort to the colonists before the Spanish ships appeared at the mouth of the River of May.

Ribault had left four of his ships there, and when they saw the Spaniards they sailed off to sea, knowing that was their only chance of safety. The Spaniards were commanded by Pedro Menendez. He told the captains of the French ships that he had come there by order of the King of Spain to burn and destroy all the Huguenots in the country. This terrible news reached Ribault, who was at the fort up the river, at the same time with the information that Menendez had landed his troops a few miles southward and was preparing to attack the fort. Ribault immediately decided to take the three ships he had with him and sail down to the mouth of the river, and with the help of the other French, who had come back as soon as Menendez left the River of May, fall upon the Spaniards before they had time to build a fort and destroy them. LaudonniÈre did not approve of this plan, as he said the ships might be scattered by sudden storms; but Ribault insisted that his plan was wisest, so he took all the best soldiers and sailed down the river, leaving all the women and children and sick at the fort, with only a few men to defend them. But the ships were scattered by storms just as Ribault was ready to make the attack, and Menendez then decided to march at once through the forests and reach Fort Caroline before Ribault could return there.

It was a very bold undertaking, as no one knew the way through the forests and swamps; but, as they were about to start, two Indians appeared, and were made to serve as guides, while a French deserter said he would show them where the fort could be most easily attacked. They marched two days through swamps and woods, drenched with cold rains and suffering from hunger; but their fear of Menendez kept them from turning back, and on the night of the second day they reached the fort, and halting before it stood knee-deep in water waiting for the daylight.

The storm had driven the French sentinels into the fort, and only one man was found at his post, when, at daylight, the Spaniards sent a small party to see if it were safe for them to advance. This man was immediately put to death, and then shouting "Santiago!" their terrible war-cry, the Spaniards rushed into the fort and began their work of destruction. They killed every one whom they could find—old men and feeble women and innocent children—and only those escaped who were able to steal away in the gray twilight of the early morning and hide in the woods and swamps.

And then Menendez, who thought he was doing God service by this cruel deed, raised a cross above the dead bodies, on which was written,

"I do this not as to Frenchmen, but as to Lutherans."

Which meant that he was not fighting against the French nation, but only against the Huguenots, who were also called Lutherans by the Spaniards and Germans.

Among those who escaped was LaudonniÈre. He was found in the swamp in the morning, and with the others who were left sailed for France in the two vessels that Ribault had left.

And now Menendez turned his attention to Ribault and his companions, who had been wrecked on an island. Ribault's party was divided by an inlet of the sea, and Menendez first attacked one part and murdered them all, and then attacked the remainder, among whom was Ribault himself, and binding their hands behind them led them to the place where their companions lay dead. Then Menendez gave them one chance for life. All who would promise to return to the Roman Catholic Church would be spared. But Ribault and his followers would not accept life on such terms; they answered that they were all Protestants. So Menendez gave the signal and all these Frenchmen were murdered also, and their bodies left exposed on the shore.

And then Menendez went through the swamp and forests of Florida hunting the Huguenots who were still at large, and finally after much trouble he succeeded in killing the most of them, so there were few Huguenots left except the fifers, drummers, and trumpeters, who were spared because they might be of service. Then Menendez returned to the settlement he had made, and with great pomp and ceremony took possession of the country in the name of the King of Spain. And then they sung the Te Deum and knelt down and kissed the crucifix, and were well satisfied with themselves, thinking they had done a great and glorious thing.

The Indians looked on wonderingly. It no doubt seemed very strange to them to see these two Christian nations so easier to kill one another. But the chief received the Spaniards kindly and gave them his house to live in, and then a fort was built, and from this humble beginning grew the city of St. Augustine, the oldest town in the United States.

The news of the massacre of the Huguenots reached France, but for a long time it seemed that nothing would be done to avenge it. The king cared very little how many Frenchmen where killed if they were not Roman Catholics, and the Huguenots themselves had no power to raise money and arms. But at length a brave soldier, Dominique de Gourgues, returning to France from foreign service, learned the terrible fate of his fellow-countrymen and resolved to punish their murderers. It is not known whether De Gourgues was a Catholic or Huguenot, but he cared little for difference of religion where the honor of his country was concerned. He said nothing of his plan, fearing the king might hinder him from carrying it out. He gave out that he was going on an expedition to the coast of Africa, and selling his estates and borrowing money from his friends he left France, August, 1564, with three ships, keeping his real destination a secret even from his own men. He really did go to the coast of Africa, and from there to the West Indies, and it was not until the next spring that he made known the real object of his leaving France. His ships were lying in a harbor at the western extremity of Cuba, and calling his men around him De Gourgues declared his intention of going to Florida and avenging the death of his countrymen, and asked how many of his soldiers were willing to accompany him. Not a man refused, and De Gourgues had, in fact, great difficulty in persuading them to wait until favorable weather for sailing, so eager were they to reach Florida and begin their work of vengeance. Every man felt, as De Gourgues repeated the story of the murder at Fort Caroline, that France had indeed waited too long to avenge this fearful crime.

De Gourgues sailed from Cuba, and as he passed the Spanish force at the mouth of the River of May, they saluted his little fleet, thinking that the ships were Spanish. He returned the salute, and then stood out to sea again, in order to deceive the Spaniards, and going north a few leagues entered the mouth of a small river. The Indians, thinking that the strangers were Spaniards, rushed down to the beach with shouts and yells of hatred, and prepared to prevent their landing. But no sooner did they see that the new-comers were French than they fell on their knees and kissed their hands and gave them every possible sign of welcome. And their joy was increased when they learned that they had come to make war upon the Spaniards, whom they feared and hated.

Satournia, the old friend of Ribault and LaudonniÈre, now welcomed their successor with the same marks of friendship he had shown them, and declared himself willing to join all his forces with De Gourgues in his attack upon the Spaniards. All the Indian warriors were called in, and at a solemn meeting they promised faith and help to the French, and as a proof of their good intentions the chief placed his wife and son into the hands of the French.

Then at a council of war they agreed that the French should go by sea and the Indians by land to a certain place farther south, where they would join forces and march to St. Augustine.

They met at the place appointed, and De Gourgues leading the French, and Olotocara, a nephew of Satournia, the Indians, they pushed forward toward the fort. As the Spaniards had done three years before, they had to wade through swamps and streams, and make their way through marshy forest lands, and their feet were bruised and bleeding, and their clothing torn, and their hands wounded with briers and nettles; but they did not care, but went on all through the night, and scarcely felt weary when at dawn they stood in front of the Spanish fort on the north bank of the River of May.

Only one sentinel stood there as the French and Indians came up in the gray light of the early day, and as he saw the stern faces of the enemy he no doubt thought of that other morning, three years before, when he had stood in the drenching rain waiting for the daylight to lighten the walls of Fort Caroline. But he was a brave man, and shouting that the French were upon them he turned his gun upon the enemy, and stood there bravely to defend the fort. But Olotocara springing upon the platform ran the sentinel through with a pike, and when the frightened Spaniards rushed out they were met by French guns and Indian arrows, and knew that the time for vengeance was come. They tried in vain to escape, and cried in vain for mercy; they were only met with scorn and hatred, and so swift and terrible was the work of destruction that in a few moments all the Spaniards were killed except fifteen, who were found and held as captives.

The Spaniards at the fort on the other side of the river knew that some stronger enemy than the Indians must be attacking their friends, but they could do little to help them, and in a short time were obliged to think of defending themselves, for no sooner had De Gourgues completed his work on the north bank than he took ship and sailed across the river, the Indians swimming by the side of the vessels in their eagerness to reach the fort. The Spaniards left their works and fled into the forest, where the Indians hunted them like beasts, and where their cry for quarter was met with the same pitiless response that had greeted the ears of their comrades. Fifteen of them were bound and their lives spared for a short time, and the rest were speedily murdered.

Still another fort remained to be taken. The Spaniards sent out from it a man disguised as an Indian to find out how many French and Indians there were; but the quick eyes of Olotocara saw through the cheat and the man was taken prisoner. There were three hundred Spaniards in the fort, and they might easily have overcome De Gourgues, who only had about a hundred men; but the Spaniards thought his force was far greater, and when, two days after, he appeared in the woods behind the fort, the Spaniards thought that a great part of his soldiers were still on the way, and sent out a party to scatter his forces before help could arrive. But De Gourgues managed to place some of his men between the fort and the Spaniards who had left it, and thus they were in danger of the fire from the fort as well as from the enemy in front. The French fell upon them with their swords, and not a man was left. The Spaniards in the fort, discouraged at this, sought refuge in the woods; but few if any escaped. Still the French cried no quarter, and still the Indians remembered the wrongs they had suffered and rejoiced that their enemies had fallen into their hands. When the dreadful work of death was over, De Gourgues hauled down the flag of Spain and raised the French banners on the fort, and then he had the prisoners brought before him, and told them he had come there to avenge the insult which France had received at their hands three years before. Then they were led to the same trees on which Menendez had hanged his prisoners, and over their heads was placed this inscription, "I do this not as unto Spaniards, but as unto traitors, robbers, and murderers."

And then they were all hanged, and De Gourgues thought his revenge was complete. The Indians were satisfied too. "I am willing now to live longer, for I have seen the French return and the Spaniards killed," said an old squaw, and that was the feeling of all her nation. De Gourgues did not remain long in Florida, and the Indians were very sorry to have him go, and parted from him with many kind words and promises of friendship; and the French, too, parted with regret from their dark-skinned friends, and promised soon to return and make their home among them, and so the fleet sailed away again, and reached France in safety, although the Spanish king hearing of the massacre of his subjects had sent a force to prevent its return home. But De Gourgues found that his brave deed was not approved by the King of France, and he soon had to leave court and live very quietly, lest his enemies should find out where he was. But everywhere throughout the world he was looked upon by the Protestants as a hero, and long years afterward the Indians in Florida remembered affectionately the man who had so bravely taken up the cause of the unfortunate Huguenots.